Loving Thy Enemy
by JustinJeffers
Summary: Daryl can't explain why he feels better when he's around. He doesn't want to feel it, but he does. What will it take to make him give in and do what his heart really wants? Rated M for mature/sexual content.
1. Prologue

**Loving Thy Enemy**

**Prologue: Giving In**

He was waiting for me. In the months I'd known The Governor, I'd only had this feeling once before. But it was different with Carol. She was independent; too much so for me. It might have still worked, though, if we hadn't met him. The Governor was a mountain of a man, towering over me at more than six feet tall. He had the salt-and-pepper hair of a man who'd been through too much. Blue eyes, matching mine, watched me make my way down the hill towards him. His arms opened up, exposing that side of him that not even Andrea could have known about. He was a different man now.

So was I.

His lips assaulted mine, searching feverishly for something that they'd already found. He was a good six inches taller than me, and I found myself leaning on the tips of my toes to reach his face. His arms were vices around my shoulders, and slowly, they moved down toward my stomach. There was no time for precision; the buttons popped off as he ripped my shirt open. For a moment, we broke away, and he took the few seconds to pull his own shirt over his head, and then our mouths were crashing against each other again. Never in my life, before this moment, would I have considered such an act of intimacy with another man. Now, though, I didn't think I'd be able to go back.

His hands found my scars, momentous from a life I wanted to forget, and I felt his lips on my ear, whispering, "You're mine, now."

There was nothing gentle about it. His arms were rigid on mine, shoving me to the ground. He slipped an arm down the front of my pants, and took a firm grasp on me. I couldn't swallow the gasp he emitted from me, and a low groan escaped my lips. He smiled, pleased with my reaction. I leaned back, arms supporting from behind. I let my head fall back as he continued his rhythmic strokes, allowing another guttural moan into existence.

Soon, I felt something new. I sat up slowly and reached forward to take his member in my hands. Instantly, I knew I'd be at the disadvantage. He was almost twice my size, and one hand almost wouldn't wrap entirely around the shaft. His hands gripped me easily, but he also had much larger hands than I did. This continued for a while, and finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Enough foreplay," I growled, and he gave me an expression of rage. His hands released me instantly, and suddenly, I found myself beneath him. His body was heavy against my back, and my arms were yanked back. He guided them to his belt buckle, which hung loosely alongside him. Together, we pushed the fabric of our jeans down. This act of intimacy was the final one; he entered me slowly, knowing it wouldn't be pleasant at first.

And it wasn't. It felt like something clawing its way through my colon, ripping the muscle away. His thrusts slowly became faster, and harder, and then-

It was good. It was more than good. He was slamming into me, faster and faster, and I was no longer holding back my reaction. A hand wrapped around my bare stomach, and he took my shaft back in his other.

After only a short time, we were at the verge. His strokes became frantic as the first shot of semen burst out, splattering the rocks around us. Two more came, just like the first, and I let out a long, deep groan. Moments later, I felt his load inside me. He gave a couple more thrusts, and then, too quickly, I felt very empty. He turned me over on my back with rough hands, and his kiss was another assault on my face. Slowly, it turned into something gentler, almost sweet. As sweet as two men could possibly be.

We broke away for a second time, and his hands found my face, pulling me right back to him again. This time, it was only a soft touching of lips, barely a kiss. I gathered him into my arms, taking control for once. It was a while before either of us spoke. We simply laid there, and then, after the silence had gone on for so long, I decided he must have fallen asleep, his lips were at my ear once more.

"That was different," he said, gasping a bit. "But I liked it."


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Just a reminder, I don't own anything from the Walking Dead! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: Tuesdays Ain't Boring Anymore

"Walkers!"

Nothing new. More of the ugly bastards crowding the fence at the west end. A few of us went down to the gate to distract them, and it was simple as that. It only took five minutes, and we were already turning to go back to the prison. I could have taken them all out from my post at the guard tower, but we all needed to feel useful.

I turned around and leaned up against the fence for a moment. Almost immediately, a hand grabbed me from behind. I jerked forward, pulling the hand with me. Holding the crossbow firmly, I faced the walker that was about to get hit.

"Wait," came the voice, weakly. I let the crossbow fall to my side. Walkers didn't talk. It was a man, probably in his forties, gripping the chain links for dear life. His head was slumped against the metal. Behind him, there were four more walkers. They must've been drawn by the smell. I shot an arrow through one and yelled over my shoulder for help.

"What's going on?" Rick shouted, pulling out his gun as he ran toward me. I hooked a thumb over my shoulder as I sprinted towards the makeshift gate we'd made halfway down the fence. Carl appeared at the fence barrier and jabbed a walker in the head with a piece of pipe.

"Got a live one," he said, looking towards his dad. They both had dark hair and the tan skin that came from living outside most of the time. "Doesn't look like he's hurt too bad."

I was already with them on the other side, and I hooked an arm under the stranger's, and half-dragged him back down to the gate. Inside, Rick took the other arm, and started up the hill, supporting his weight for him. I heard the unmistakable squish of metal on meat, and I knew that Carl had gotten the other walkers. He rushed after us, opening the interior gate for us.

"Hershel," Rick called out, once we were inside the prison. He was at the door immediately, limping slightly. Still wasn't used to the fake leg we'd found him. He took one look at the man slumped between us and gasped. Then he disappeared around the corner. Rick and I propped the man up on a bench, and he started falling forward.

"Whoa there," I said, slapping a hand over his chest. I tossed the crossbow and sat down next to him. The others began filing into the room, crowding around us. I looked around, frowning. Too many women, and we were about to strip the guy down. I looked to Rick. "Everyone out but us," I told him. He nodded.

"Give us some space," he ordered, pushing through the small crowd. "Everyone back to their cells." Slowly, they all left the open area, and then Hershel reappeared with medical supplies. He came around to my side and started spreading stuff out on the table. Rick started tugging on the guy's shirt, eliciting a groan from his lips. Hershel handed him a pair of scissors, and the shirt came off easier. It wouldn't be wearable again, though.

"Gonna need water," I commented, glancing toward Carl, who'd decided to stay for some reason. "Make yourself useful, boy. We're gonna need to hose him down." Carl nodded and sprinted from the room. I turned to face Rick again. The man was now lying down on the bench, eyes closed. At some point, Rick would want to ask his three questions, but that wouldn't be happening for a while.

"Soak these in this," Hershel said, handing me gauze pads and a bottle of some kind of liquid. I looked at them for a few seconds, and then I shrugged, tearing open the bottle and soaking the squares in the stuff. As soon as that was done, Hershel took one and began rubbing it all over the man's bare chest. It was impossible to tell where the dirt stopped and the skin began. Hershel was good, though. He realized quickly how useless a tiny square of white fabric was, and ditched it for a much larger rag.

Half an hour later, we had the guy cleaned up to a point where we could actually see how bad his wounds were. No sign of a bite, but he had some pretty bad scratches that would get him a few days' worth of observation in the sick ward. "It doesn't look like he'll need stitches," Hershel said. I felt a little relieve at that. It was always ten times worse when someone had to get stitches. "We'll need to dress up his entire chest, though." Well, that was going to suck.

"Listen, son," Hershel said to the man, even though he was probably passed out. "We're going to dress your wounds." Surprisingly, he nodded slightly, and I noticed, not for the first time, just how angled his jaw was. Angled sharply and framed with a crop of short, dark hair. Hershel got down on his knees and began placing strips of cloth across his chest, and each time, the man let out a low moan. His voice was deep and guttural, almost like an animal. He didn't fight us, which was good. Meant he still had sense enough to realize we were trying to help. "Here," Hershel said to me after a few minutes, pressing the roll of cloth into my palm. "I've got to get more saline. Lay this over his stomach." With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and went around the corner. Rick had already moved across the room, where he was moving stuff around on the pantry shelves. It was just me and Mr. Stranger.

I stared at the roll of gauze in my hand. I never did this kind of dirty work. I only handled situations from the waist up, and the gashes left to cover were dangerously close to his groin. I stood there for another moment, and then, cursing silently, I knelt down at the end of the bench, right over his waist. It was only one scratch, really, but it began at his bellybutton, and went all the way down below the waistline of his pants. I cursed again, louder this time, and shoved a wad of gauze down his front. That got another moan out of him, and I guessed it was because it was a more sensitive area. I glanced toward the guy's face, and gasped when I saw him looking at me.

"Hey," I said. His eyes moved down to where my hand was still clutching the cloth roll, still touching his lower stomach. He watched me with bright eyes. I was very aware of the fact that he was watching me.

I didn't look away, though.

"What's your name?" I asked, finding myself unable to look away from his chiseled jawline. Slowly, he raised an arm and slid it behind his head, supporting himself.

"Phil," he croaked, coughing. He cleared his throat and said again, "Phil Blake."

"Well, Phil," I said, rising to my feet. "Welcome to our humble home."

. . .

Hours later, Phil was sound asleep in one of the empty cells in the sick ward. I'd taken over an hour ago, insisting that Hershel go on to bed. I could never sleep at night, anyway. I sat on the floor across from the tiny bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. It was about four in the morning. Rick would be in at six to relieve me, but I'd be just fine staying here longer.

After a while, it became clear to me that he wasn't actually asleep.

"Jig's up," I said, "If you're not going to sleep, let's get a little history." Almost instantly, Phil was pushing himself to a sitting position, leaning against the cell wall. He was extremely tall, and his feet were almost at the edge of the mattress. He struggled a bit, causing the fabric of his shirt to strain against impressively large muscles.

"What do you want to know?" He had sort of a southern twang, not unlike my own accent. He spread his arms out in front of him. "I'm an open book."

"For starters," I began, sitting up a little straighter, "What the hell were you doing out there?"

"I was in a group," he said. "We had a camp just south from here, but there was a complication."

"What kind of complication?"

"You want the short answer or the long answer?" He asked. I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm, but I ignored that.

"We got nothing but time," I told him.

"The leader of the group," he continued, "went psycho. Turned on us in the middle of the night. He killed them." I was pretty dark in the room, but the pained expression was plain as day on his face.

"How many?"

"Dozens."

"How'd you get caught up in something like that?" I asked, looking him over. "You seem pretty normal."

We sat in silence for a while, and I was about to decide he'd fallen asleep. Something hit the floor, and I looked up, realizing it was him. Well, his feet. He was sitting up on the side of the bed now. Looking right at me. All he said was, "He didn't start out that way."


	3. Chapter 2

Om

A/N: This is in The Governor's POV.

Chapter Two: Leave It in The Past

God. I'd been hit by a truck. That was the only logical explanation for the fact that I couldn't move. Well, I could move if I really wanted to. Every time I clenched a muscle, though, every other muscle screamed in protest. I guess that's what I got for taking a tumble down so many hills. What else could I do to get away? He'd gone insane, and I barely got away as it was.

I'd been lying in this block of a room for the past day and a half. These people had been coming in and out almost constantly, mostly to make me eat. I kept most of it down. I'd managed to tear myself up pretty bad, and so the old man named Hershel came in once already to switch out the bandages that covered, well, the entire front of my body. I wondered if anyone else knew where I'd come from, but the man who stayed with me the first night apparently hadn't said anything. That, or they were just nice enough to let me recover first.

"Morning," Rick said, walking into my little cell. He carried a bowl of something, and just the smell made me want to throw up. He either ignored me or didn't see my expression, because he left the bowl right there on the bed beside me, and walked back out. I stood up on shaky feet to get away from it. It was one of the first times I'd been able to walk without someone holding me up. It made me feel very hopeful, because the longer I had to be taken care of like a baby, the less useful these people would see me as.

"Mornin'," he said, the second person in my cell this morning. At least half a foot shorter than me, I had to tilt my head down slightly to see him properly. Any other way just wouldn't do him justice. Despite possibly being the shortest person in this camp, he looked as if he could win any fight he was forced into. His crossbow was slung across his shoulders. It suited him nicely. He came over and took a seat on the bed. "Finally up and about on your own. You should feel proud." He gave me a weird kind of grin that probably meant he was deliberately trying to be an asshole.

"Sooner I'm up, sooner I can leave," I replied, taking a step towards him. "Wouldn't want to burden you fine people."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Hershel, barging in. He looked over at the still –full bowl of something, and looked back at me. "You've got to eat, Phillip." He didn't press, though. He only took the bowl with a scowl and started back outside. "You've got plenty of use in this camp," he called over his shoulder. "We'll find you a job."

"Yeah, you're not leaving," he said, laughing. "You wouldn't last an hour out there in your condition, _Phillip_." That reminded me.

"You know," I said, taking another step towards him. "You know my name, but I don't yours. Only fair, if I'm going to be living here."

He started laughing again. It took him a solid five minutes before he could tell me, "Daryl." I waited for something more, but he didn't say anything else. He stood up to walk out, but right before he left, he turned back and asked, "How about meeting the rest of the group?"

. . .

I was assigned perimeter duty. _As tolerated_, they stressed. I wasn't allowed to go it alone under any circumstances, and –surprise, surprise- my partner was going to be Daryl. I couldn't say I was disappointed.

"How are you?" He asked right after the assignment was announced. "Think you can handle a perimeter walk?" We were standing outside in the inner square. He reached into one of the huge bins holding the guns and pulled out a long piece of metal. Noting my confusion, he added, "We only use guns as a last resort."

"Don't be crazy," Hershel said, looking at both of us. One of his overall straps was coming undone. As soon as I had the thought, he took hold of the button with a hand and re-fastened it. "Phillip's not in any condition to go all the way down there right now."

"Give him some credit, Hersh," Daryl said, and at the same time, I insisted, "I'm fine." We looked at each other and shared a laugh. It felt nice to laugh after everything I'd been through. "Don't worry," Daryl continued, "We'll stick to the buddy system." I couldn't decide whether he was being serious or just humoring Hershel. Whatever the case, I'd rather have him protecting my ass than anyone else in the camp.

"Back before nightfall," Rick ordered, and then he looked at me. "He'll end up in the woods all night if someone's not there to reel him back in."

The rest of the group shared a chuckle, and then Daryl gave an expression of mock outrage, grabbed my arm, and said, "Let's go, pansy."

. . .

"So, deer?" I asked, watching him through the fence. He was dragging a huge buck through the woods. He stopped at the edge of the clearing to take out a walker, shooting an arrow through its head. And then he continued through the grass. I held the gate open as he picked the thing up and tossed it in, following behind.

"My specialty," he said, looking a bit proud. He was probably the only one in the camp who could get them. Suddenly, he looked up at me. "How many walkers you killed?"

"Too many to count," I told him. It was the truth. You couldn't be alive in this world without killing walkers. I looked down at the metal crowbar I held in my hand. It was still clean. I looked back at him; he was also looking at the crowbar. Back to the fence, where two walkers were clawing at the chain links. "What, you want me to prove it or something?"

He didn't say anything, so I walked over to the fence and jabbed each walker with a clean shot to the brain. No time to think; just do. The corpses dropped to the ground, unmoving. I turned back to see Daryl's expression. "That good enough for you?"

"I didn't even say anything," Daryl said, laughing. He was doing a lot of laughing today. I ignored him and walked over to help carry the deer. Instead of letting me help, though, he tossed it over his shoulders and started walking up the hill toward the prison. I gave a sigh of exasperation, and followed behind him.

. . .

"Where'd you say you came from?" Rick asked that night. We were gathered around a table near the main prison doors. Something about a council. I suspected they really only wanted to talk about me. "Any survivors we should be looking for?"

"No," I said, a little too fast. Nobody seemed to notice. The truth was, I didn't know if anyone was left. All I knew was that I didn't want them _here_. I still couldn't tell them what really happened, either. I still hadn't figured out how I managed to tell Daryl, when I'd only known him a few hours. "We were ambushed," I continued. "Horde." There was also the fact that I found myself lingering on his face. The other night, when he did the bandages on me. Too much to think about right now. I looked at Rick. "By all means, have a search party go out. But you'll be wasting your time."

Later, I was on my way back to the sick ward. They were making me stay there until they were absolutely sure my scratches weren't from the walkers. Daryl was waiting for me in the cell. I froze at the door, unsure of what to say. Or do.

"Missed council," he said casually, rubbing a finger down one end of his knife blade. "Bucks take a long time to prepare." He looked up at me and stood up. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, pansy?" He walked over to me and patted my cheek, roughly, saying, "Sleep tight."

And then he was gone.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Daryl's POV

Chapter Three: A Secret?

Something was up with him. I didn't know what, but it was bound to come out eventually. Rick put him with me for perimeter walks, which was nice when you weren't answering stupid questions every five minutes. Lately, we'd been having to reinforce the walls with metal poles and branches, so walking wasn't even easy anymore. Phillip didn't seem to notice, though.

"How many times did they get in?" He asked, nodding toward one of the many broken reinforcements piled against the side of a shed. While I thought about whether to lie or not, he took out two walkers who'd caught a whiff of our scent. Used to be two women, but not anymore. Their fingers were wrapped around the chain links on the ground. He took a few steps and then turned to look at me, saying, "More than once, right?"

"Twice," I told him, deciding not to lie. He wouldn't believe me if I tried to tell him our camp was the safest place in the world, anyway. "We lost a lot of people the second time." A memory flashed through my mind then. Yeah. We'd lost a lot.

"Someone you cared about," he said. It wasn't a question. It must have been obvious on my face. Hell, he was the only one in this camp who didn't know. She'd been the victim of an abusive husband, and when he'd finally succumbed to the walkers, everyone's life got a little easier. She began to gravitate towards me after that, and well, you know.

"Don't get attached to anyone," I told him, confirming it. "This world doesn't care about love." He watched me for a moment and then nodded again, slowly. I walked over to him and opened up the gate. "Cover me," I said, ducking under the fence, into the woods. He seemed to understand better than anyone else that I didn't just _want _to run around in the forest every day. I needed it. It was one of the few things I was good at, and bringing home fresh meat to the others made me feel useful. It was kind of sad that the stranger knew me better than the people I'd been living with for months.

. . .

"Incoming," I said, giving the carcass a final kick. It landed just inside the inner fence, rolled once, and stopped at Rick's feet. He bent down to inspect it, and just like I taught him, thrust his knife into its side. Blood began pooling around the body. Maybe he wasn't as good as me just yet. I knelt beside him with a bucket and began pulling out handfuls of the entrails. It felt like holding a bunch of sausages. I dumped them in the bucket so they could be used as bait later.

"Just barely missed it," Rick commented, pointing the blade at the spot where he'd cut. He'd gone over an inch too far. I stood up and left him alone. He'd be okay. Phillip met me at the gate's doors. He'd gone…somewhere. I don't know where. He took the pail from my hand and our fingers brushed each other for a moment. The tingle that followed was such a shock that I jerked back a step. He noticed.

"You okay?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fine," I said, but I was anything but. I let out a heavy sigh, and then I turned away, walking towards the prison. I could feel him watching me, but I had no time to explain what had just happened. I didn't even understand it. I headed for Cell Block C, where we were currently sleeping. I kept the cell on the very end, near the emergency exit. A block of wood served as the lock, but that was mostly to keep out walkers if they got that close to us again. Everyone else had been pretty detailed in personalizing their little rooms, but the only thing I had was the wallet-size photo of my brother and I. I'd found a frame to fit it in, and now it sat on a little card table in the corner. The rest of the table space was filled by arrows. I'd be the last one to run out of ammo.

It wasn't long before I was thinking about it. What just happened? Luckily, he was smart enough to not follow me and want to talk about feelings. I'd have to face him again eventually, though. So what the Hell had just happened? The short version of the story was that he'd touched me. He'd touched me and that touch sent my nerves into haywire, almost the same way they did when _she _had touched me. It couldn't be the same, though. It had to have been my brain screwing up. If my brother could see me now, freaking out over a man's touch, I'd already be dead.

I had parents, but I might as well have been raised by wolves. The only thing I took with me from them was this: Faggots burn in Hell.

They thought they were Christians, so they taught us that from the very beginning. Gays weren't allowed in the house, and dad even shot at one for trying to come in once. After they died, Merle did a good job of keeping those ideas in my head. I might have been a little softer if I hadn't been raised by him.

I heard Rick before I saw him. I walked out to meet him before he could ask what was wrong. "Council meeting," was all he said. I nodded. It was finally time.

A room had been set up as the library in the main building. Some people had managed to hold on to their own personal collections, and the rest were salvaged from trips to the town a few miles away. One shelf was dedicated to a collection that came straight from the bookstore, because someone was stupid enough to think that books were the most important thing to grab. Still, it made the place feel that much more like home.

"It's been a week," Hershel was saying as we walked in. The council was made up of Rick, Hershel, Maggie, and myself. Hershel's other daughter, Beth, had no interest in politics, and Maggie's fiancé/boyfriend/husband had taken over Carol's black market school, teaching the kids how to defend themselves from the walkers. I took a seat beside Maggie.

"Have you asked your questions?" she asked, looking at Rick. He had a set of questions that he asked every person who wanted to join the group.

"I did," he said. I was only slightly shocked. Sometimes he waited for the meeting, and sometimes he didn't. That was his input on the subject with every newcomer. Hershel's was deciding whether the guy would be a threat, psychologically, based off their answers to Rick's questions. I wasn't really sure what Maggie provided. The people who came looking for refuge were always put with me for camp duties, and I gave input, either on what kind of skill they had to offer, or what kind of potential they had to learn a skill.

"And?"

"I asked him how many walkers he'd killed," Rick continued. "He said he's killed too many to count."

"That's good," Maggie said. "Means he's not afraid to use his knife."

"I asked him how many people he'd killed," Rick said. "He said 2." Pause. "I asked why he'd killed them, and he told me it was in self-defense."

"What happened to put him in that situation?" Hershel asked.

"According to his story, he was the only survivor of an attack on his old camp. Two men ambushed his group of ten, and they killed everyone but him."

"Why?"

"He says he killed them before they could."

It was silent for a few minutes, while we all thought about the pros and cons. He obviously had some mental instability, if he'd really been through all that. Personally, I didn't really believe anything he'd told Rick. I felt like there had to be more to it than that. But I kept my mouth shut. If I told them I didn't think he was safe to be around, they'd make him leave.

And for some reason, I didn't want him to leave the camp. I wanted him to stay with us.

"How'd he do with you, Daryl?" Hershel asked me.

"He did better than anyone else I've had," I said, looking up at him. "Killed three walkers the first day." I left out the part where he tripped over the same branch four times. The three of them looked at me, and then at each other. After a solid minute of more silence, Hershel looked at each of us again and nodded.

"Well, then," he said, taking on an approving tone. "I see no reason to deny him membership in this camp."

"Agreed," Maggie said, giving us a smile.

"Does he even know he's been on trial?" I asked, only half-joking. In the beginning, we told them right off that they were going to be watched for a while before they were given a chance to join our community. Now we do it in secret. "To get more accurate results," Hershel always says.

"He'll know in about an hour," Rick said. "He's out back with Carl right now. I'm glad, too, because it's so hard for him to like new people."

"He's actually getting along with Phil?" I asked. A smile crossed my lips. If Carl liked him, he must be a damn good person. "Better hold on to him as long as you can, then."  
We dismissed the meeting, and I returned to my little room at the end of Cell Block C. I laid there for a long time, hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling. Hours passed, and nobody came by. Not even Phillip. I tried to ignore the fact that I was disappointed. I tried to keep the ideas of my parents in my head, but they kept slipping away, and that feeling kept coming back.

For the first time in a long time, I was able to fall asleep in that cell, even with the walls closing in around me. But before I did, I thought about what I'd said to Rick earlier. _Better hold on to him_.

I didn't know if I'd been talking about his usefulness to the group, though. And that thought scared me more than anything else.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Phillip's POV

Chapter Four: Day by Day

My name wasn't Phillip in the beginning. Phillip was my brother. I was Brian, and together, we survived the first few months of humankind's downfall. They called me The Governor.

I did pretty well for a post-homicidal maniac. I remembered every moment of my downfall into insanity. It wasn't without reason, though. Those people I'd been with, they had no idea how to survive. They spent their days complaining about the inconvenience of a generator not working. No ice in their cups? They couldn't even imagine it.

I'd been the leader of a town called Woodbury. A piece of a town that hadn't been completely destroyed in the immediate aftermath of the apocalypse. A group of us, including my brother, built walls around the edge of the town. We cleaned out the walkers who'd gotten inside the buildings and then each of us claimed a portion for ourselves. The way we lived, it was almost like we were living a normal life. Biters rarely got in, and when they did, there was a team of at least three waiting to kill it. Nobody died from the virus.

Still, it didn't take us long to figure out that you came back as a biter, no matter how you died. The oldest man in our group was the first to show us. Luckily, he was already with Phillip and I when he died. He went in his sleep, and then he came right back. As a biter.

I was the one who shot him in the head.

After that, we started rounding up anyone who was sick enough to be a threat, and nobody was the wiser. It was easy to keep them in the dark when they were all so desperate to stay in their fantasies or perfection.

Slowly, the number of people living with us grew. It grew into an entire community of about forty people. That was the first of the lies I told Rick and his council.

Power was something that nobody sought after in this world. It was there for the taking. And that's what I did. I became obsessed with the control of every aspect in Woodbury. Curfew at ten. Everyone worked, no matter what condition they were in. They insisted on those stupid parties every week, and only a handful of them would have survived if we'd been attacked. Some could say I did them a favor.

I began collecting biters from the woods and ruins around us. I kept them in a shed in the back of the town, and then, one day, I set them all free. Fifteen biters moving in on a group of people who didn't even carry a knife because they thought it was too much. Nobody, not even Phillip, survived. That was the moment that I decided I'd done the right thing. If my own brother couldn't defend himself against them, there was no hope for Woodbury. I took his name as my own and ran.

By the time they'd found me at their fence, I'd been through Hell three times over. I fell from two trees, trying to escape the horde I'd created, and the wounds they treated were self-inflicted. I'd had the rather stupid idea that more blood would make the biters think I was one of them. Now, Woodbury was a trap-filled graveyard full of death. If a person came by the town and was dumb enough to open the door, they'd be surprised, to say the least.

These were all things I kept from the people who took me in.

. . .

"Take your pick," Rick told me. We were in Cell Block D. I'd be the only one in here for a while, because the other three people who occupied it were in the sick ward. He lifted a finer and pointed out the three cells. "Except for those rooms, of course." Each member of the camp got their own cell, and so those who were involved- romantically or otherwise- could do whatever they wanted with their extra room. I immediately went to the end of the block and stepped inside the cell. It held the essentials from before: Bed, sink, toilet. A small card table was set up in the corner across from the toilet. Other than that, the place was bare. Rick looked at me and nodded. He left without saying anything else. I walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands.

"Hey," someone said. I looked up and saw one of the kids. Carl. He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Ironically, he looked more like Daryl than he did Rick, and he was Rick's son. "You shouldn't coop up in here. You'll go crazy." He didn't wait for me to get up; he was already out of the cell block by the time I was on my feet.

I came outside just in time to see Daryl grab Carl from behind and hold him in a headlock. He rubbed his knuckles into the kid's hair and then shoved him away, both of them laughing. The sun hit his face as he turned away, and I held a hand over my eyes to block the glare. Ever since I woke up to him patching me up, I'd been feeling something. I knew exactly what it was, and it probably wasn't good thing, because I was pretty sure he wasn't willing to play on my team. Even though he _was _on my team.

He just hadn't admitted it to himself yet.

"Get your ass down here," Daryl called out, and since nobody else was around, I decided he was talking to me. He and the others were gathered around a pile of pipes near the first fence that surrounded the prison. As soon as I was within ear shot, Rick spoke up.

"We're brainstorming," he informed me. I looked down at the stuff we were standing around. It was just a bunch a broken pipes. They must have come from the sewage system. He picked one up and handed it to me. "Any ideas?"

"Well, what are you trying to do?" I asked. They weren't fixable. Maybe if we had industrial welding machines, but not in this environment. They had potential as weapons, but that wasn't the most efficient thing that could be done with them, either. "You can't do anything, really." I looked up, past them, towards the outer fence. I took a step toward it, an idea growing. "Hold up," I said. "Follow me. And bring the rest of these."

I led them down the hill to the fence that separated us from the woods. I walked over and propped my piece through one of the holes. It was small enough that it fit, so I really wondered what they'd been planning to use them for. One side was smooth, but the other was full of jagged edges, like shark teeth. The teeth stuck out on the other side of the fence, and I stomped on the end at my feet, burying it in the dirt. Once I was satisfied, I stepped back and let the others see.

"Brilliant," Hershel said, smiling. If we did that with each piece, we'd be able to line the perimeter with an extra means of defense. The height of the teeth meant they'd go through the torso of most biters, but that was better than them coming at the fence the way they were now. "Good thing we saved you, right?" He chuckled, and I wondered what the joke was. Hershel and his daughters got to work with the rest of the pipes. Carl joined them after a few minutes of silent talk with his dad. Daryl came over to me and clapped a hand on my back.

"Good job, new guy," he said. "Finally, we got someone with brains around here." It was harder than it should have been to look him in the eyes, especially when he was smiling like that. But I did. The spot where his hand touched my back tingled slightly, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. Without warning, Rick was on my other side.

"Ever wonder what that feels like, Daryl?" he said, grinning at him. "To have a brain?"

"Listen here, sheriff," Daryl said, trying to keep a straight face. "I'll stomp you into the ground. Cops ain't the boss anymore." He crossed in front of me and slapped Rick on the back and then he walked off to join the others with our newest construction project. Rick stood there for a moment, staring at the trees beyond, and then he walked over to tell Hershel to go back up. He took over, and Hershel headed back to his sick ward. Apparently he was the only one with medical knowledge right now. It crossed my mind that he could be teaching the others some basic stuff, but I decided to save that conversation for later.

I watched them work for a few minutes, and then I headed back to the inner fence to get the rest of the metal pipes.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Becoming Useful**

**Daryl**

"I could help with that," Phil was saying. "I know you're the only one around here with the training, but if you taught me, I could teach them." I turned the corner to find him sitting with Hershel by the main doors, looking over equipment they'd laid out on the table. Hershel had that smile of approval, and I knew Phil was on his way to becoming the old man's favorite.

"That's awfully considerate of you, Phillip," Hershel told him, reaching a hand out to place on Phil's arm. "It's the least I can do to contribute, since I can't exactly man the front lines anymore." He gestured to his fake leg with a laugh. It'd been long enough that we could all joke about it without remembering the fear of almost losing the only man who could save our lives if it were to come to that. He'd been doing just fine with a prosthetic for about three months now, and-

"How'd that happen, anyway?" Phil asked, breaking my thoughts apart. It wasn't the first time it'd happened.

Hershel got that faraway look in his eyes and I could see the memory reeling inside his head. When we first found the prison, there was a huge hole in the side, where someone had apparently blown their way out. We all got inside without too much damage, but there were dormant walkers on the ground right around the corner, right before we got to the first cell block. Hershel was the last one through, so they'd been well awakened and drawn to our scent by the time his leg was over the mouth of the rotting corpse.

"Got bit," Hershel said with a grunt. "And let me tell you, it is every bit as bad as they say." He let out another chuckle, and Phil's eyes grew wide. His head tilted, his eyes moving to the bundle of fabric at the bottom of Hershel's right leg, where the prosthetic wasn't quite long enough to make his legs equal. "Rick saved my life, you know," he added after a moment of silence. Phil raised his head back up to meet Hershel's, and that's when they noticed that I was in the room.

"Come sit with us," Hershel called out, waving a hand. "Phillip was just offering to become my apprentice." He always had that way of speaking, the kind of dialect that made a person feel like they were back in the 1800's, or something. I'd never been raised to respect anyone that couldn't threaten me into it, but there was something about Hershel. It felt…wrong to be anything but respectful towards him. It might have had something to with the fact that he welcomed us into his farmhouse way back when.

"Can you handle that kind of pressure?" I asked him, slapping a hand on his back. Phil looked at me with an odd expression, and all of a sudden, he looked pale as a ghost. He looked from me to Hershel, his hands rigid. He gripped the edge of the table like his life depended on it.

"Phillip?" Hershel's voice had comforting tone to it, but Phil didn't say anything. "Are you alright?"

"How long ago did it happen?" he finally choked out. I got that vibe again, that there something about him that just wasn't right. That he was hiding something.

"A few months ago," Hershel assured him, and it was weird that Hershel was having to assure him of something like that. Phil's hands still gripped the table, though. His knuckles turned white. And then he stood up, his hands falling to his sides. He looked like he was about to throw up.

"I have to go," he said, and then he left the room, disappearing around a corner. Once he was gone, Hershel turned his attention to me and opened his mouth to say something.

"I don't know what his problem is," I said, cutting him off. "Must have triggered some memory." It was a lie, and I knew it, but hopefully Hershel was easier to fool. He gave me an expression of concern, and then he pushed himself up and took an unsteady step backward.

"We should go talk to Rick," he said, and I felt my muscles seize. I knew exactly why he wanted to talk to Rick. It annoyed the hell out of me, but I had an awful feeling when I thought about Phil being kicked out of the camp. And he would be, if Hershel told Rick that he was too unstable to be trusted. I jumped in front of Hershel as he made his way across the room.

"Let me talk to him," I said. Hershel raised an eyebrow, but his features were too tired to transform into anything else. I'd meant for him to let me talk to Rick, but as soon as the words were out, and I realized I'd actually meant to talk to Phil. "He's not crazy, Hersh. He's been through hell, probably more than once," I explained. "Just wait a while before you do something stupid." Hershel's expression didn't change in the slightest at my words. He was used to me saying things like that. After a few minutes, he gave a slight nod of his head and went back to the table.

"I think you're growing soft on me, Daryl," he joked. I glared at him, but he didn't look back my way. He pulled something out of his pocket and laid it on the table. His bible. The one thing that made him completely different from everyone else. "Go on and talk to the boy. I'll be right here."

"Thanks," I told him, and left the room. I had no idea where Phil had gone when he bolted from the room, but his cell was a good place to start.

I wandered the cell block for a while. It was so rare that I was totally alone, I couldn't pass up the chance to hear myself think. Sure, we were all one big happy family now. That was great, some of the time. But I'd grown up with only three people on my life, and half the time, we were in separate rooms. Nobody in the camp really knew how depressing my pre-apocalypse life was, and I had no intentions of telling them. It was all in the past now and nothing could fix it.

"Figured you come after me," he said, before he even saw me. He was sitting on his bed, facing the wall. He slumped over a bit, but he was still pretty banged up. I walked over to stand in front of him and leaned against the wall, one foot pressed up behind me.

"I get that you're not exactly stable right now," I began, "but you're going to be kicked out of this camp if you don't start giving a more believable performance." He stood up and got closer than necessary to my face. He looked pretty insane.

"This camp would be better off if I left, anyway," he said, and then he turned on his heels and started down the hall. He walked fast, like he had somewhere important to be, and by the time I got to the end of the hall, the only thing that showed he'd been here was a sliver of sunlight where the door wasn't closed all the way. I reached for the handled and threw it back open and caught a glimpse of him making his way down the hill to the second fence that surrounded the prison. I knew better than to go after him right now. I wasn't that kind of person, anyway.

"What'd he say?" Hershel asked as soon as I walked back into the room. He was still sitting at the table, reading his bible. I walked over to the table and stood there for a moment, but before I could open my mouth to say something, Rick and Carl appeared at the entrance to Cell Block C, where just about everyone but Phil was staying. I leaned back against the wall, off to the side, and crossed my arms over my chest.

"He didn't say nothing," I told him. "He's still getting over being the only survivor in that group of forty-something people." I waited another few seconds and then I added, "But I think he'll be fine in a few days."

"Where is he now?" Shockingly, it was Carl who asked. I turned my head to look at him. He had a huge grin on his face. I guess they'd been right about him, then.

"Down by the fence," I said to him. His smile grew wider and he looked at his dad expectantly. Some parts of me felt that Carl would do whatever he wanted, regardless of what Rick said.

"Go on," Rick said. "Don't go off alone, though." The last word wasn't out of his mouth before Carl was on his way out the main front doors. I watched him exit the building, and then I stared at the doors as the closed back in on us, until I heard someone clear his throat.

"So, you think we should let him stay?" Hershel asked, and I looked at him. His eyes were watching me carefully, and I was suddenly afraid of saying the wrong thing. Something strange was going on, and I didn't really like it very much. I couldn't tell them I _wanted _him to stay, because that wasn't something I'd ever say about anyone, with the exception of my dead brother and _her_. They trusted my judgment, so if I told them he should have to leave, they'd probably make him go. The only problem with that was… I didn't know if I wanted him to leave or not.

There was a part inside of me that was telling me to lie to them, and say there was no reason to worry about him being a threat, because I wanted him to stay here. It would be different if it was a woman we'd found, or if the guy was my family. But no. This was just some random guy who had almost zero beneficial skills to offer- at least, not for a while- and the only thing that was even remotely special about him was the fact that I felt this way at all. Logic said to send him away now, before the situation got worse.

"Yeah," I finally said. Hershel looked at me, and then at Rick. They both seemed surprised, but they both nodded. I pushed myself up and off the wall and left. As I walked back to my lone cell in Block C.

I had a really bad feeling that this was going to be something that couldn't be helped by logic, and that scared me more than anything else.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Useless**

_Get it together. _I kept telling myself that as I walked toward the door that separated my lone cell block from the rest of the prison. I'd run out last night, freaking out like a psychopath, and I was sure they'd have things to say about it once they saw me. Hiding in my room all day wasn't an option, because they'd just come get me. I was almost certain they would ask me to leave today.

"Morning," someone called out, and I turned my head in their direction. It was the old man's daughter, but not the one on their council. She held a baby in her arms. Bile rose into my throat at the thought of having children in this world.

"Good morning," I replied, trying to sound pleasant. My lips curled into a smile and I hoped it looked real. I sat down at the first table in the bunch, and she joined me moments later, holding the baby on her knee. "How old is she?" I asked.

"Almost six months," she said, lowering her head and smiling. "We gave her solid food for the first time last week." She didn't look like she'd survive, even for an hour, outside the walls of this camp they had. I wondered how she'd stayed alive so long. They must keep her within and give her children to watch.

"Who's the dad?" I asked, almost regretting the question. That baby's father was probably dead, and now this girl was forced into single motherhood.

She was nothing but smiles as she said, "Rick."

My eyes bulged, and I choked on my own spit. She couldn't have been more than twenty, and Rick was at least forty-something. Sure, that happened all the time before, but things were different now. Maybe this camp wasn't so different from my old one. And then she started talking again.

"Rick's wife died giving birth," she told me, and I felt guilty at the relief I felt. "Carl and Maggie had to take it straight from the womb, and then Carl had to"- she stopped abruptly, shaking her head.

"Had to what?" I asked, though I felt like I already knew the answer.

"Before she turned," was all she said.

"How'd he take that?"

She was silent for a moment, and then she said, "It broke him."

. . . . . .

"Hey, wait up." The voice came from around the corner, so I knew it wasn't directed at me. I stopped at the wall just before the turn. It was Rick's voice.

"What," demanded another voice, and I recognized it as Daryl. He sounded irritated. The hallway I stood in was deserted, so I waited where I was, listening.

"Do you really think it's such a good idea to let the new guy stay here?" Rick again.

It was silent for almost a solid minute before Daryl said, "Yeah. Why?" in a short tone.

"You don't think he might snap at someone?"

"Nope." It sounded like Daryl was getting mad, but it always seemed like that.

"I guess I have to trust you for now," Rick said, sounding exasperated. "But if he attacks someone during one of those episodes, you're going to be responsible." I waited impatiently for Daryl's reply to that.

"I guess I will be," he practically growled. Something shifted in the air, and he added, "Don't worry Rick. I know what I'm doing." I took a step forward then, and caught sight of Daryl slapping a hand across Rick's back. Neither of them saw me. I stood, frozen, until they walked away.

They wanted to send me away after what happened yesterday. I wasn't surprised by that part. But Daryl seemed like the kind of person who wouldn't even vouch for his own brother if it meant putting the whole group in danger. He wasn't the kind of person who could have any kind of emotion for a single person.

So why did he defend me?

. . . . . .

"This is all they let me do." Carl was complaining again. We were just inside the outer fence, collecting debris from storms in the past. It was mostly leaves, but sometimes we'd find a large branch to use as a support beam, and there were also a few fires going closer to the prison. He bent down to pick up a piece of kindling and tossed it to the side, a little harder than necessary.

"You know," I started, squatting next to him. "Your dad only wants to keep you safe." He gave me an expression of disgust, but he didn't say anything. "He's in charge around here, right?" I tried again, and he nodded. "Do you think he's a good leader for you and the others?"

"I guess so," Carl said, shrugging his shoulders. "Nobody else wants to do it, and he's too nice to say no." He grabbed another stick and threw it to the pile.

"Did you ever think that maybe he's trying to please everyone, and he counts on you to keep yourself safe?" I asked, "Since he can't always be around to watch you?"

"What's your point?"

"Be happy that he lets you out of that shithole at all, because he could keep you locked in a cell all day in an attempt to keep you alive." I tried to sound stern, but he wasn't fazed at all by my words, and his lips curled into a smile.

"I _guess _you're right," he told me, still grinning. "But I still hate this."

"So why are we still doing it?" I questioned, taking the branch from his hand. "Let's go do something fun." I put an arm around his shoulder and we started walking up the hill.

"You're more fun than the rest of the guys around here," Carl commented.

"I'm not like the other guys," I replied. He glanced over at me and laughed.

"That's for sure," he said. He stopped abruptly and looked at me again. "You know, right?"

"Know what?"

"That you're gay." That threw me back a little. He was the first to say something about it, and it wasn't like I hid it from people. I watched his expression for a moment before answering. He looked happy about it. Actually, he looked thrilled. I would guess it was because it was something different for a change.

"Well, of course I know," I finally said, laughing with him. "I've known for a long time."

"But the others don't know." It wasn't a question. I shook my head, and he continued, "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

"Thanks, Carl," I told him. I meant it. Most of them would never have a problem with it, but I wanted to stay on Hershel's good side. He was a good man. I'd seen him with his Bible, and I knew what he'd have to say about what I was doing. That was a conversation I was hoping would never come up. "You know, you're the first to pick up on it. I'm kind of surprised."

"They're all too caught up in their own problems," he said, sighing. "They think that decorating the cells is the most important thing in the world right now."

"Where are the other kids?" I asked. "I know you can't be the only one."

"Most of them are too scared to come down here alone," he explained. "Sometimes they'll come in a group, but they always run back screaming when a walker shows up."

"Bummer," I commented, and he smiled again. "What happened the last time you guys dealt with a horde?"

"They hid in the cells," Carl said. "Of course, that's what they were _told _to do, but you can't just do what you're told without knowing why. Half of them can't even use a knife right."

"Maybe we can teach them," I offered. "Secretly, of course." I had no intentions of opening up a black market school for the kids in this prison, but the banter I had going with Carl was something short of a miracle. I knew how difficult he was for the others, especially after what happened with his mother. He may have been almost thirteen, but even _he _could get scared. He just knew how to hide it. Kind of like the way Daryl hid who he really was. I caught glimpses of that when I helped him in the woods those few times. I could tell that not many people had ever seen him that way.

Maybe that was why I liked him so much.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Unraveling

Daryl

"Hey, wait up," Carl called out. I stopped walking and turned to face him. He barreled down the hill, faster than necessary, and slammed to a stop right next to me. The break in the fence was directly to my left, and I glanced toward it, hoping this wouldn't take long. If I could, I'd go out there and live in the woods.

"What do you want?" I asked, looking at him. "You're not coming outside the fence."

"I don't care about that," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I just want to stay down here while you're out there. Dad can't tell me no, since I'm not technically alone." I thought about that for a second. He and I both knew very well that he'd try to come with me, and there was really no point in trying to argue. The little brat always ended up getting his way.

"Fine," I finally said. I went to the fence and began peeling back the layer that wasn't fully attached. As I slipped through the hole, I called over my shoulder, "Don't do anything stupid." I started for the path I'd worn into the dirt and left him behind me. I wasn't even twenty feet away when he yelled something else.

"Did you know?"

I jerked my head around to see him through the leaves of a tree. "What?"

"Nobody else knows." I heaved a sigh and made my way back to him. I really didn't understand the kid, ever. I tried to be nicer to him, though, since he seemed so unhappy all the time. I put a hand up against the fence and leaned my head in.

"What are you talking about?"

"Phil," Carl explained. "He's gay."

Something seized inside me, and I gripped the chain links so tightly, my knuckles turned white. The only problem was, I had no idea why. I glanced toward my fingers, slowly draining of color. "Okay," I said, as calmly as possibly. "And?"

Carl shrugged and said, "I don't know. I figured it would be interesting for you to know."

. . . .

He was gay. Of course he was gay. It made so much more sense now. I'd abandoned the idea of hiding out in the woods for a while, and now I found myself pacing the halls of Cell Block C. I walked to the end, where the emergency exit stood next to my room, and then back to the gate that separated the hall from the main living space. I'd been doing it for a while now, but I had no idea how long exactly. I couldn't get it off my mind, and I couldn't figure that out, either.

There was something about him, I knew. I'd been avoiding him because of it. Every time I got near him, something in my body went all weird, and there was no logical way to explain it. Therefore, the only logical thing to do was stay as far away as possible.

Eventually, I went back to join the others in the other room. Rick and Hershel were sitting at one of the tables, and Beth was off to the side with Judith. I took a seat across from Rick and tried not to look like I was going crazy. I rubbed absentmindedly at my forearm.

"Where's Carl?" Rick asked. He asked that about twenty times a day. I shrugged.

"He came up when I did," I told him. If I wasn't so preoccupied, I might have been able to care a little bit more.

"He's probably with Glenn, then," Hershel said. Glenn, who was married to Hershel's other daughter, ran the survival school that Carol started weeks ago. Before she…

"Yeah, he said something about that," I offered. Rick nodded in approval and stood up.

"I've got to check on a few things," he announced, and then he looked to Hershel. With a grunt and a groan, Hershel stood up, too, and the two of them headed off toward Cell Block D. Probably to check on the three people inside who were sick with whatever it was they had. As soon as they were gone, Beth came over and sat down across from me. She held Judith in her lap, and I couldn't help but smile at her.

"So, what's wrong with you?" she asked, but it sounded more like an accusation. She kept her eyes on Judith, trying to make her hold a bottle of formula.

"Nothing's wrong," I said.

"Oh please. I know when someone has a secret." She looked at me briefly and added, "Don't you remember the secret I had?"

I did. Before we came here, we were at their farmhouse, and Hershel had been nice enough to take us all in. That was before we lost half the group. Beth tried to kill herself, but nobody even knew until it was almost too late. That was the secret she was referring to. Now, as far as I knew, she loved life, and she even got a baby out of the deal. She was usually the only one available to take care of her, anyway. And, she had this really weird ability to read people's minds. Nobody could lie to her and get away with it. But I was going to have to if I wanted to stay sane. "Nothing's wrong," I repeated.

"Okay then," she sighed, bouncing her knee. Judith giggled and the bottle fell to the floor. Beth stood up and bent to get it, and then she looked at me and said, "You know, if there's a problem, you can talk to me. You know that, right?" I was pretty sure she had a crush on me. Nice and all, but there was no way that would ever happen.

"Yeah, I know," I told her, offering a small smile so she wouldn't feel so bad. "Thanks." She nodded and walked off, holding baby Judith on her hip.

. . . .

I ended up back in the cell at the end of the hall. I laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was a boring gray color, but boring was good for me. I couldn't be thinking the way I was, because there was something wrong with me if I did. Thinking like that was just plain _wrong_. That's how I'd been raised.

I'd seen Phil earlier, when we were all outside, and I watched him watching me. Neither of us looked away, even when we knew the other was looking. I'd known it was wrong then, too, but I let myself not care for a few minutes. Now I couldn't get it out of my head. I closed my eyes and tried to block any and all thoughts.

"Hey."

My eyes popped open at the sound of his voice. Slightly guttural, but higher than some others I've heard. I decided to pretend I was asleep, but he didn't go away. Finally, I had to look at him.

"I know you've been avoiding me," he said, standing in the doorway. I shrugged. He was right. There was no point denying it. I turned my head slightly so I could see his face. He was watching me again.

"Yeah well, you can't make everyone like you." I wanted to turn away from him, but I was frozen. The thoughts were back in my head, and I had to fight harder to push them away.

"I know what you did," he said, and I felt the sudden urge to laugh. He took a step closer; he was in the room now. I gave up the fight enough to sit up on the side of the bed.

"And what did I do?" I asked, deciding to humor him. Maybe I'd actually gone crazy and this was all a hallucination. He took another step.

"You didn't let them kick me out." Our eyes met again, and of course, _of course,_ he'd been listening yesterday. Of course he'd heard me defend him, even when I knew he was unstable. Of course he'd witnessed my weakness fall through. This was still fixable, though. That is, if I'd been expecting the next words out of his mouth. "You feel it, don't you?"

I doubted I'd be able to look away, even if I wanted to. But I did want to. I couldn't be in this position right now. This was not happening.

"No," I insisted. I was telling the truth, right? Yes. It had to be the truth. Anything else would mean… No. "I don't." I wrenched my eyes from his sight and turned to walk away. I froze when I felt his hand on my shoulder. The nerve endings there were firing like mad.

"You do," he said again, more insistent this time. He took a step in my direction and I pressed myself against the cell block wall, trying to keep the distance between us. "Don't you think I'd know if I saw one of my own kind?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," I spit at him, and it didn't take much searching to find some anger to dish out. Who knew where it came from? I let it out now, pushing a hand against his chest. "I'm not a queer."

"Don't say it like that," he said softly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of." He removed his hand from my shoulder, and I stood there, seething. He was only silent for a moment before he said, "Kiss me."

"_What_?" I gaped at him, feeling my hands clench into fists.

"Prove it," he said simply.

"Prove what," I demanded, backing up to the wall.

"Prove you don't feel it," he said, walking towards me, keeping the distance between us at a minimum. I stared at him, unable to comprehend what he was asking. It wasn't possible, was it? Better to get it over with, because I _didn't _feel anything. I felt nothing. I wasn't like that. It was wrong to be that way.

I closed what distance was left in a single stride and grabbed his face in my hands. It was the strangest thing in the world, to feel another man's lips against mine. His were surprisingly warm, and the contact sent a jolt through my body. I felt his arms wrap around my waist, and suddenly, it was too much. I broke away, jerking from his grasp. I prayed that my face wouldn't betray me when I told him, "There. Nothing to it. Looks like you were wrong."

He studied my face for a long time, and then he sighed softly. "I suppose I was," he said, almost sadly. His eyes left mine as he added, "I'm sorry." And then he was gone.

And I was alone in my cell.

All I could do was stand there. Leaning against the wall, I couldn't ignore the feeling that still pulsed through me. I couldn't ignore the fact that every nerve in my skin was on high-alert. If someone else were to come along and touch me, I would probably explode into a million pieces. It was wrong.

It was wrong it was wrong it was wrong.

The knocking brought me back to reality. It was coming from right outside the cell, but how was the even possible? I peeked through the door and the sound became a pounding. It came from the direction of the emergency exit, which was only ten feet away. My eyes fell on the wooden board, and I choked on my breath.

The board was bending, about to snap. One walker wouldn't do that. Five walkers wouldn't do that.

In the time it took me to run back into my little room, grab my crossbow and gather as many arrows as possible, and get back in the hallway, the board reached its breaking point. The thing snapped in two, and the pieces fell to the floor, and then there was no lock at all on the only barrier between me and at least a dozen walkers.

The door flew open, they poured in, and I took off down the hall, screaming for the others.

**A/N: I'd like to send a shout out to the fans reading this. Yesterday marked 1000 views on the story! THANK YOU SO MUCH. Keep reading and enjoying, and I'll have the next chapter up as soon as possible!**


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